


Race to the End

by fluffybookfaerie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Croatoans, Hunting, M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-05
Updated: 2013-10-05
Packaged: 2017-12-28 12:56:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/992236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffybookfaerie/pseuds/fluffybookfaerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas is human. Sam is acting weird and distant. It looks like the croatoan virus is back. Dean and Cas go on a trip to investigate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Race to the End

“You know humans have to eat, right?” Dean said to the bathroom door. He heard a rustle of cloth—Cas shrugging—from within. “Cas, your alfredo sauce is gonna get cold.”  
“I’ll be out in a few minutes,” said Cas.  
“Whatever, man. Don’t ask me to make you another dinner when the sauce starts to congeal.”  
Without waiting for a response, Dean galloped down the stairs to their all-purpose table to wolf down his own pasta before it got cold. Sam had already finished his breakfast, his plate empty save for the bits of bacon he had eaten around.  
“Was there a problem with the bacon?” Dean asked, raising an eyebrow at his brother.  
Sam rolled his eyes. “Did you hear me complain?”  
Dean scowled dramatically. “I know it’s not up to your low-fat-low-carb-whole-wheat salad standards, but if you don’t like it, you can make your own food.”  
Sam just shook his head, and got up to clear the two empty plates.  
After a few minutes, Cas shuffled in and sat down heavily at his place. He picked up a fork and poked absently at the food in front of him, but did not eat.  
“What’s up, Cas?” Dean asked from across the table. “Did Sam forget to air out the bathroom again?” He grinned.  
Sam’s colorful retort was just audible over the sound of the dishes getting washed in the kitchen, but Cas didn’t react at all.  
Dean’s smile faded. “Hey. Talk to me, Cas.”  
Cas took a bite of his pasta and chewed it without appearing to taste it. Finally, he looked up at Dean.  
“I’m aging,” he said.  
Dean blinked. “Well, it’s about time! How long have you been alive, anyway?”  
Cas shook his head. “It’s my vessel—my body. I have a new wrinkle.” He pointed at a faint indent between his eyebrows.  
Dean reached across the table to Cas and ran a thumb gently over the offending wrinkle. “That’s nothing,” he said with a lopsided grin. “You’re still young and sprightly for someone with a trillion years under his belt.”  
Cas leaned slightly into the touch. “Dean…” he began softly, but Sam came back into the room just then, and Dean pulled back hastily.  
“It is a part of being human, Cas,” said Sam, as he collected Cas’s mostly-full plate once he had ascertained that Cas wasn’t going to eat any more. “And I’m sorry Metatron did that to you, really, but it’s not like you haven’t been there before.”  
“I was a bit preoccupied last time, what with the end of days and all,” said Cas dryly.  
Dean got up and headed toward the back wall, where he began fiddling with the ancient radio. “You survived that, you can survive anything!” he called over the blaring static of the radio. “Anyway, get your ass over here and help me with this damn radio.”  
“How?” asked Cas from directly behind Dean.  
Dean jumped. “Dammit, Cas, I thought you were done sneaking up on me when you became human.” His words were angry, but the right corner of his mouth was twitching slightly, like he was trying to suppress a smile.  
“My apologies,” said Cas. “But I don’t see how I can help you. If I were still—well, I could intercept the frequency if I weren’t human. But I am.”  
Dean rolled his eyes. “You know, if you stopped feeling sorry for yourself, you’d see that all I need is someone with working arms to hold it in place while I unscrew the back panel. I think there might be something wrong with the capacitor.”  
“Oh.” Cas complied, steadying the radio with both hands so Dean had to duck underneath one of his arms for access to the radio. Dean didn’t complain as he once might have about the close proximity, but his hand shook slightly on the screwdriver, and when he accidentally dropped one of the screws, Cas stepped back. “Your car has a radio, doesn’t it?”  
Dean waved a hand dismissively. “She’s resting for the night.” He worked the last screw out at last and slid the panel open. He peered in, his eyes sweeping over the dull metal workings. “Capacitor looks fine…” he muttered. “It’s a little dusty, though.” He pursed his lips and blew into the exposed hollow of the radio. “Cas, why don’t you try turning it on again?”  
The other man’s hand fumbled for the switch, and when he found it, the loud, surprisingly clear voice of a news anchor filled the bunker.  
“Hell yeah!” Dean cheered, presenting his fist to Cas, who stared at the proffered hand quizzically. Dean shook his fist at him impatiently. “Dude. Fist bump?”  
Cas stared at his own right hand, curling it into a fist, and pressed it gently against Dean’s hand. And then Cas waited for Dean to pull away, but he didn’t. And Dean waited for Cas to pull away, but he didn’t. And then they were gazing at each other, and Dean started to lean in, but Cas straightened suddenly, glancing at the radio.  
“Dean.”  
“Hmm?” said Dean absently, his eyes straying to the other man’s lips.  
“Dean,” Cas said again, more urgently. Dean looked up quickly and blinked.  
“What, Cas?”  
“Listen to what the man on the radio is saying.”  
A few moments later, Dean was running over to the kitchen. “Sam?” he called out to his brother. “You’re going to want to hear this.”  
***  
The story on the radio was about a fast-spreading epidemic that had started in a small town in Northern Indiana. The disease was said to be blood-borne, and it caused those infected to become cold and violent. Several tests had been performed on the first victim, and the results led to the conclusion that he was suffering from a severe sulfur allergy. Only 10 people had showed symptoms so far, and they were currently under quarantine, but as the disease took a while to present itself, the anchor expressed doubt as to whether authorities had it under control.  
Sam looked at Dean when the story ended. “You’re thinking Croatoan, right?”  
“Uh, yeah,” said Dean. “Well, that or ten people had really bad acid trips. Either way, I figure if we head out now, we could get there even before the cops start breaking out the Dunkin’.”  
Sam cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Now? I, uh, thought we could at least get a good night’s sleep first.”  
Dean narrowed his eyes at him. “You got somewhere else you need to be? C’mon, you can sleep in the car.”  
“Actually, Dean,” Cas chimed in, “the man on the radio said those infected were under quarantine, so perhaps the authorities really do have it under control for now. And six hours of sleep will drastically improve your reaction time.”  
Dean rolled his eyes. “Whatever. You guys have gone soft from too much loafing around in this bunker. We’re leaving at six o’clock sharp, and if either of you isn’t ready at that point, your lazy ass is getting left behind.”  
As Dean stormed off in the direction of his room, Sam called after him, “Don’t pretend you don’t want to spend some more time with your memory foam mattress!”  
Dean flipped him the bird.

The next morning, Dean woke to the sound of banging on his door. He glanced at the clock, which told read 4:15.  
“What the hell, Sam,” he yelled groggily at the door. Dressed only in his boxers and so tired he could barely keep his eyes open, he rolled out of bed and stomped over to the door. “This better be a friggen emergency,” he growled as he opened the door to reveal his brother, hand poised to knock again.  
“I can’t go with you today,” said Sam.  
“Wait, what did you just say?” Dean asked, rubbing his sleep-heavy eyes.  
“Something came up,” Sam said slowly and clearly. “You and Cas are going to have to go without me.”  
“Something…?” Dean shook his head again, and then yawned. “What the hell else could you even have going on?”  
Sam hesitated. “Look,” he sighed. “I’ll explain it all to you later, okay?”  
“You better,” said Dean. “You’re lucky I’m so tired or I’d be kicking your ass six ways to Sunday.”  
Suddenly, a thoughtful expression spread across Sam’s face. “So, just you and Cas, huh?”  
Dean blinked sleepily. “What are you trying to—“ he began, but was interrupted by a door opening down the hall.  
“Good morning,” said Cas as he approached them from his room yawning, dressed in an old, rumpled Journey t-shirt and boxers. “Were you discussing me?”  
“Yeah, we were,” said Sam, but before he could elaborate, Dean made a loud, nonsensical noise.  
“Dude,” he said, staring at Cas. “I’m not dressed!”  
Cas looked at Dean’s bare torso, confused, and quickly looked away. “I don’t understand,” he said. “You were just talking to Sam.”  
“That’s different,” said Dean. Sam snickered, and Dean glared at him. He retreated back into his room and slammed the door. “Shut up, both of you!” came his muffled voice through the door. “Go read books and drink coffee or go back to sleep or whatever. I’m going to put some freaking clothes on.”  
Sam and Cas went to sit in the main room, and Sam explained the situation to him. Soon, Dean joined them and decided to scramble some eggs. As they ate, they figured they might as well head out early since they were up and ready anyway.  
“Thanks to Sam,” Dean muttered.  
“What do you think is up with him, anyway?” he asked Cas as they slid into the impala.  
Cas shrugged. “You know him better than I do.”  
Dean shook his head disgustedly. “You’d think that, wouldn’t you?” He turned the keys in the ignition, and as the impala came to life with a purr, the Led Zeppelin cassette Dean had been playing during his last grocery run resumed playing, filling the space between the two men with music. Dean’s fingers tapped absently on the steering wheel in time to the song as he pulled out onto the road.  
“I don’t understand how you enjoy music like this,” said Cas.  
“What can I say?” Dean said, smirking. “I’m a man of taste. You don’t like Zeppelin, you obviously don’t like good music.”  
“I enjoy listening to Mozart,” Cas offered. “I believe he’s a well-known musician.”  
Dean snorted. “Sure, if you run with Kevin’s ‘advanced placement’ crowd. I don’t buy any of that Magic Flute crap.”  
“There’s a radio station,” said Cas. “One hundred and one point four megahertz. I used to tune in to it, back when…” he trailed off.  
Dean rolled his eyes at the fallen angel. “Yeah, nice try. Not even Sam gets to pick the music when I’m driving.”  
Silence fell between them, so Dean, in a low, husky voice, began to sing along to the cassette. “And it's whispered that soon, if we all call the tune, then the piper will lead us to reason.” He looked over at Cas and smiled slightly. “And a new day will dawn for those who stand long, and the forests will echo with laughter.”  
Cas frowned. “You should keep your eyes on the road,” he said stiffly.  
Dean’s eyebrows drew together as he fiddled with the radio. A moment later, ‘Stairway to Heaven’ was replaced by Mozart’s ‘Symphony No. 9.’  
“Thank you, Dean.” Cas was smiling a rare, joyous smile, and although Dean didn’t respond, he was smiling too.  
“Cas,” Dean said through a mouthful of bacon cheeseburger. His voice was just barely audible over the clatter and chatter of lunch at Biggerson’s.  
“Yes, Dean?” Cas’s own burger sat barely touched in front of him.  
“The, uh, the song I was playing earlier. Was that hitting too close to home?” Cas was silent, and Dean cleared his throat uncomfortably. “It’s just that, you know, I’m here. If you need to talk.”  
Dean raised his eyebrows expectantly at the other man, but when Cas made no move to say anything, he shrugged and took another enthusiastic bite of his burger.  
“Man this is good,” he moaned, his words muffled by the food. He eyed Cas’s nearly full plate warily. “You should eat up, Cas.”  
Cas lowered his eyes to his meal, but they were unfocused; he appeared not to be staring through the table in front of them, rather than at it.  
“The song you refer to didn’t remind me of heaven, if that’s what you mean,” said Cas finally. “It got me thinking about paradise on earth, actually.”  
Dean leaned back in his chair. “The apocalypse?” he asked, his voice a mixture of relief and confusion. “Dude, that hasn’t been a problem for what, four, five years?”  
Cas took a second, tentative bite of his burger, and hastily replaced it on the plate. “I believe I have lost my taste for hamburgers since becoming human,” he said, coughing in his haste to swallow the offending morsel. “The archangels may all be dead or in the pit,” he continued, after he had taken a sip of water, “but now that the remaining angels have been banished to earth, I’m sure it won’t be long before those who supported the end of days will attempt to restart the process.”  
“Wow.” Dean contemplated this prediction for a moment, then shrugged. “Well, we’ve prevented the apocalypse before, we can do it again.” He grinned at Cas then, a cheeky grin that Cas met with a frown.  
“All things come to an end, Dean,” said the fallen angel. “You of all people should know that.”  
Dean looked away from Cas and let his eyes wander until finally landing on Cas’s plate of food. “Well,” he said, brightening. “While you get Oscar the Grouch out of your system, I’m going to finish that for you.” He reached across the table, grabbed it off the plate, and took a hungry bite. The grin was soon replaced by a look of disgust as he immediately spat out the food into his napkin.  
“What the hell?” he asked the napkin, and then looked at Cas for answers. “This tastes like—dude, I think the meat’s bad.”  
Cas cocked his head. “Bad?”  
Normally, Dean would have chuckled at his confused friend, but he was already feeling Cas’s forehead for a fever. “Yeah, bad. Rotten or something. It means you’d better hope to God I’m wrong, because otherwise you’ll be spending this hunting trip crouched over a toilet.”

***

“Sam,” Dean growled into the phone as he paced around the motel room. “Unless you are in a life-or-death situation, I need you to get your ass over here and back me up.”  
Dean could just barely pick out the muffled sound of a conversation, presumably as Sam was covering the receiver so he could talk to someone else.  
“Look, Dean,” Sam said finally into the phone. “I just—what happened to Cas?”  
Wordlessly, Dean held the phone towards the bathroom, where the sound of retching was clearly audible. “Hear that?” Dean asked, bringing the phone back to his ear.  
“What was that?”  
“That is what happened to Cas. Baby’s first food poisoning.”  
Sam breathed out slowly. “Crap.” And then, “Wait. Are you guys sharing a room?”  
“That is so far beside the point I’m not going to answer the question,” scoffed Dean. “Now are you going to come, or what?”  
There was silence on Sam’s end.  
“Sammy?” Dean asked. “You still there?”  
“Yeah,” he said hesitantly.  
“This shouldn’t be a hard question.” Dean clenched his jaw.  
“I’m not coming,” said Sam simply. “I’m sorry.”  
Dean froze. “You’re not coming?” he asked quietly, enunciating each word carefully. “What the hell possible explanation could you have for that? And please, Sam, tell me, because I am dying to know. You owe me an explanation.”  
“I know that, Dean.” The calmness in his voice contrasted infuriatingly with the anger in Dean’s. “And you’ll get one, I promise. But I want to tell you in person, when you’ve calmed down.”  
“Once I’ve calmed down? I’m calm right now, Sam. I am just fine. I am—“  
But he didn’t get a chance to finish the sentence, because once again, Sam had covered the phone to talk to someone. Only this time, he hadn’t done it thoroughly enough, because Dean could still make out what he was saying.  
“How are you feeling, Amelia?”  
Dean threw the phone, hard, across the room, where the screen shattered upon impact with the wall.  
“Dean?” Cas called from the bathroom, his voice weak and dry. “Are you okay?”  
“No, I’m not friggen—“ Dean began. He stopped himself, took a deep breath, and walked over to the bathroom. “I’m fine, Cas. What can I get you?” He made a face as he stepped in. “Dude, you look terrible. And this bathroom could use a fan.”  
Cas was kneeling on the floor, leaning his head against the wall next to the toilet. His whole body was damp with sweat. He looked at Dean with defeat in his eyes.  
“You could get me the full power of the heavenly host,” he said, barely getting the words out before his body shook with dry heaves. “But barring that,” he continued, wiping his mouth, “I can’t say I have much experience dealing with… all this.” He gestured at the toilet.  
“Well, lucky for you, I do.” Dean eyed one of the glasses next to the sink suspiciously and filled it with water. “I know eating and drinking stuff sounds like a bad idea right now, but you’re going to feel a whole lot worse if you don’t get some water in you. You’re already coughing up fumes.”  
He handed the glass to Cas, who obediently took a careful sip. Immediately, Cas was bent once more over the toilet as he vomited the water back up.  
Dean rushed over to the sink so he could run some cold water over a washcloth. “Hey,” he said softly, kneeling down beside Cas and gently reaching across to wipe the sweat off the other man’s forehead with the washcloth. “That’s okay. You can try the water again later. It’s not going anywhere.”  
Cas closed his eyes at Dean’s touch and leaned into the washcloth. His breath caught in his throat. Dean allowed his eyes to travel down to the other man’s lips and his thumb to linger for a moment at Cas’s temple before he quickly took one of Cas’s hands in his own and placed it over the washcloth.  
“Hold that there,” said Dean. “I’m going to see if there’s anything salty in the minibar.”  
Cas’s eyes followed Dean as he walked over to the minibar, rummaged around, and emerged victorious with a small packet of peanuts.  
“Don’t even think about eating these now,” said Dean, placing the packet next to the sink, where his toothbrush would have gone if he’d had time to unpack it, “but you’re losing a lot of salt, and you’re going to want to replace that eventually.”  
That done, he picked up his weathered green jacket from where he’d thrown it haphazardly on the bed closer to the door.  
“Where are you going?” Cas asked, still tracing Dean’s steps with his eyes.  
“It’s still a hunting trip, buddy,” Dean said, spreading his arms in a ‘what can you do’ sort of way. “I won’t do anything too drastic until you’re on your feet or Sam gets his head out of his ass, but I might as well scout out the situation.” He chewed his lip as he scrutinized the pitiful scene. “You got your cell in your pocket, right?”  
Cas nodded.  
“Call me if you need anything. And I mean it, you call me and I will come running. Just—get better. I need you up and fighting.”  
As Dean disappeared out the door, Cas opened his mouth to respond, but his words were drowned out by another round of dry heaves.  
***  
“Well that’s… creepy.” Dean, outfitted in a surgical mask and rubber gloves in addition to his normal cheap black suit, was staring through a window at what appeared, but for the monitor beeping at regular intervals and the shallow rising and falling of the thin chest, to be a corpse. “What did you call it, doc?”  
“Doctor Martin,” the reedy-voiced, scrubs-clad man next to him corrected. “It’s called an induced coma. The patients have shown markedly aggressively symptoms, so we’re treating it as an advanced form of rabies in accordance with the Milwaukee protocol to see if the patients respond.”  
Dean eyed the sleeping figure dubiously. “Right. And if they don’t?”  
“Well, if it is indeed rabies or something similar, their systems will begin to deteriorate,” Dr. Martin said delicately.  
“Okay, but if they don’t die,” Dean said impatiently. Dr. Martin flinched at his bluntness. “What happens to them?”  
“Should the disease appear to persist with no change for another fifty-four days, they will be moved from the hospital to a facility with greater resources.” He glanced haughtily at Dean. “Unless, as you say, homeland security continues to believe that this is some form of biological warfare, in which case I’m assuming there will be some sort of bureaucratic dispute.”  
Dean forced a laugh and scanned the nearly empty corridor for eavesdroppers. “Yeah, you know how it goes with red tape. Hey, listen doc, I just have one more question. Let’s say one of these guys wakes up—I know, I know, the drugs keep coming, that’s not going to happen—but let’s just say what if. So this guy with these ‘markedly aggressive symptoms’ gets it in his mind to break out of this nice little room and go infect someone. How do you guys deal with that?”  
Dr. Martin sniffed. “Well, they wouldn’t get very far. There’s an alarm system that shuts down the entire floor, and it can be triggered by the doors being opened by someone without a key, the windows being shattered, or it can be done manually.” He gestured at the wall, where, next to a fire alarm, there was a blue button encased in glass that read, “In Case of Emergency.”  
Dean raised an eyebrow, impressed. “Well, it looks like you guys got everything under control for now.”  
“You and the FBI,” said Dr. Martin, rolling his eyes. “You’re always so surprised when we do our jobs properly.”  
“The FBI?” Dean asked, holding up a hand to pause the specialist’s sentence. “Why would the FBI be paying you a visit?”  
The corners of Dr. Martin’s mouth curled downwards into a frown. “The same reason you are. Goodness knows why they feel the need to involve themselves.”  
Dean scratched his chin. “Do you think you could give me a number or something where I can contact them?”  
“She didn’t give me a number,” Dr. Martin said. “But I did hear her chatting with a nurse practitioner about her plans to visit a local destination. She didn’t leave too long before you arrived, so you might still catch her there.”  
***  
Dean was hit by a tidal wave of sound upon entering the arcade, a mix of the songs and sound effects of the arcade games and the cheers and shouts of overstimulated children. The crowd surrounding one of the game machines against the back wall seemed to be the exception; all were silent, holding their breaths in anticipation of something. Dean walked across the arcade to watch as they tensed in response to some hidden cue—and then exploded with cheers.  
The previously hidden person who had been crouched over the game straightened, fists punching the air, and whirled around to reveal Charlie Bradbury.  
“Aw yeah beyotches, fifth time in a row,” she crowed. “Up top, guys.” She went around the crowd, high-fiving each of her young, adoring fans. Now that the screen was no longer blocked, Dean could see that the first, second, third, fourth, fifth, and seventh scores all belonged to “queencharlie.”  
“Nice monkey suit, highness,” Dean called to her over the din of the arcade. Charlie looked up, surprised, looking for the speaker. When her eyes lit on him, she beamed, but quickly composed her features.  
“Way to pat yourself on the back, Clinton Kelley.” She held the arch expression for a moment, and then her face split into a grin again and she pushed through the crowd of kids to squeeze him into a tight hug.  
Dean squeezed back, and then pulled away to dig through his pockets for some quarters. He held a handful of them out to the kids. “Why don’t you guys try and beat the queen’s score? She and I have some catching up to do.” They grabbed the quarters and scattered.  
“You couldn’t have waited another 20 minutes?” Charlie complained as they sat down next to the skee-ball machines, where it was slightly quieter. “I was this close to pushing halowarrior87 off the high scores list.”  
“Cut the kids a break,” Dean laughed, shaking his head at her. “So tell me, Charlie. Why are you here?”  
Charlie brightened. “Well, I was in the area anyway, because there was a convention not too far away, and I heard about the situation on my police scanner, and I couldn’t resist checking it out! It’s the croatoan virus, right?”  
Dean raised his eyebrows. “How the hell do you—never mind. Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking. No way to tell at this point, though, since they’re all unconscious, and no one’s getting in or out of those rooms for a blood test.”  
“That’s why I left,” said Charlie, nodding in agreement. “I programmed an app on my iPad that identifies creatures, but I’ve never run into these before, and since they’re all in induced comas, it’s pretty hard to see what symptoms they’re presenting.”  
“Have you been hunting a lot?” Dean asked.  
Charlie shrugged. “When the opportunity presents itself, I take it. If I thought I couldn’t handle it, I’d call you.”  
“Still,” Dean looked at her, concern wrinkling his brow. “You shouldn’t have showed up without backup.”  
Charlie shot him a dry look. “Look who’s talking. Where’s Sam, anyway?”  
Dean looked away. “Sam’s… he’s… uh—“ he hesitated. “He’s back with his girlfriend.”  
“Oh! Good!” Charlie searched Dean’s face. “This is a good thing, right? ‘Cause he seemed, like, really miserable when they broke up.”  
Dean sighed heavily. “It’s not just about whether or not he’s happy. He’s a hunter. He has responsibilities.”  
Charlie rolled her eyes. “Because you guys are the only hunters in the world, right?”  
“No, but we are the best,” Dean said with a smirk. “Bragging aside, though, Sam and I, we’ve fought things nobody else has ever seen. He leaves, all that knowledge, all those skills just get wasted.”  
“It’s Sam’s choice how he wants to share those skills, though, isn’t it? Besides, are you even sure what he wants is a clean break from the life? I mean, I know as well as anyone how hard it is to shake off this monster stuff once it’s latched on to you, but why does it have to be romance or hunting? Gilda—the fairy, do you remember her from Moondor?—she’s been visiting me lately, and it’s been totally awesome. And with the hunting stuff, she’s more helpful than anything. I don’t want to interfere too much with whatever’s between you and Sam, but just… think about it, okay?”  
Dean looked thoughtful. “Yeah, I’ll—I’ll--“ and then sudden realization struck him. “Shit. Charlie, I got to get back to the hotel. I brought Cas along and the poor guy is sick as a dog. He’s probably still crouched over the toilet.” He got up with a groan. “It’s good to see you, Charlie.”  
She got up to embrace him. “Are you sure I can’t convince you to stay and play a round of Double Dragon?”  
Dean paused mid-step. “They have Double Dragon? No kidding?” He stared off into space for a moment, with a dreamy look on his face. “I haven’t played that since I was…” and then he shook his head. “Well, anyway, my sick angel takes priority right now.”  
With a knowing grin at his words, Charlie raised a hand in a Vulcan salute. “Peace out. And… good luck.”  
***  
Cas was sprawled out on his bed when Dean opened the door of the motel room with his elbow, his arms laden with food.  
“Cas?” he called quietly. Cas stirred and sat up.  
“Good to see you with some color in your cheeks, man,” said Dean. “I brought you something to eat if you’re feeling up to it.” Cas nodded, so Dean tossed the bag of food to him. Cas reached for it a fraction of a second too late, so it hit his face before he caught it. Dean winced as he came to sit across from Cas on his own bed. “Sorry. I guess your reaction time isn’t up to par yet.” Carefully, he handed Cas the soda he’d bought.  
Cas accepted the cup. “What did you find out?” he asked after he had taken a slow sip.  
Dean shrugged. “Not much. The vics are being treated for rabies, so the doctors put them in comas. No way to tell if it’s croatoan or just some weird form of rabies, so I guess we just hang tight until anything changes.”  
There was silence as Cas took another sip of his drink. “You were gone for a long time,” he remarked. “I was worried about you.”  
Dean looked stricken. “I ran into Charlie on the way back. I guess I should have called to check in,” he said shifting uncomfortably.  
Cas looked at him, then, the faint wrinkle in his forehead deepening with the force of his feeling. “Dean, you shouldn’t apologize,” he said fiercely, although Dean hadn’t really apologized. “You were doing your job. You had to leave me behind because I was sick and weak and I couldn’t help you, I understand that. It is I who should be apologizing to you.”  
Dean’s lips pulled into an “o” of confusion.  
“All those times,” Cas continued, “I vanished without telling you where I was going, often without even saying goodbye. I never realized how much it hurts to be left behind. You were so angry sometimes and I didn’t always understand, but I see now. And I am so sorry, Dean.”  
Dean, lost for words, did the only thing he could: he leaned across the narrow gap between their beds, slid a hand into the hair at the back of Cas’s head, and gently kissed him. Cas groaned softly and grabbed a fistful of Dean’s shirt, pulling him closer so Dean’s legs were sandwiched between his, their thighs pressed together. Dean pressed back with his lips on the fallen angel’s, caressing Cas’s mouth with his tongue, tasting—  
Dean pulled away suddenly. “Dude, have you been drinking?” he asked, breathing heavily.  
Cas nodded. “There were some small bottles of liquor next to the peanuts,” he said, his voice made even more gravelly with lust. “I wanted to numb… everything.” He reached for Dean again, but Dean rose and backed away, horror written across his face.  
“What’s wrong?” Cas asked desperately. “What did I do?”  
Dean closed his eyes and shook his head. “I have to go. I just—“  
And he left.  
***  
“Dr. Martin?” Dean shouted into the office door. There was no response, so he pounded his fist against the door for a second round of violent knocks. “You there, Doc?”  
Finally, the door opened to reveal Dr. Martin. His hair was pointing in all directions, his shirt was wrinkled, and he had the look of a person who was vibrating after having consumed too much coffee.  
“Doc!” exclaimed Dean, clapping the man on the shoulder. “Good to see you’re working late.”  
The specialist looked at Dean with distaste. “Agent Donovan. Perhaps it’s good you’re here. There’s something I need to tell you—“  
“Yeah,” Dean interrupted, “I found her at the arcade like you said, you were a big help. Listen, I don’t have a whole lot of time. I know you’ve had a hard time of it, what with us government guys walking all over you, and I just wanted to stop by and make sure we were cool.”  
Dr. Martin coughed. “Cool? An urgent—“  
“Great!” Dean interrupted again, and with that, he pulled the confused doctor into a bear hug.  
“Anyway,” he continued, pulling away with another shoulder pat, “it’s good to see you. Have a good night.”  
And he left, closing the door in the face of the very confused Dr. Martin.  
As soon as the door was properly shut, the toothy grin on Dean’s face fell away, and he began walking briskly towards the quarantine ward as he pocketed Dr. Martin’s set of hospital keys.  
Dean swore quietly as he saw a cluster of doctors in the hallway where he’d witnessed patients earlier. He deliberated for a moment, and when he saw that they were going to stay put, he approached them at a run.  
“Dr. Martin wants to see you,” he told them as he reached the crowd of doctors, panting. “He said it was urgent.”  
The doctors muttered to each other for a while, and then seemed to come to a consensus. They thanked him and filed off. Dean waited until the footsteps faded away, and then sprang into action, walking up to the nearest patient’s room and trying keys in the door’s lock, peering around to make sure there were no observers. When the third key clicked, he turned the knob, and with another furtive glance around the hallway, entered the room, leaving the door very slightly ajar.  
The patient looked peaceful in his comatose state, breathing shallowly to form a sort of rhythm with the beeping monitor. Although it was a different patient from the one Dean had observed earlier, they looked startlingly similar in sleep.  
From his pocket, Dean removed a small bottle of clear liquid and a packaged syringe and needle. Fumbling slightly, he assembled the syringe and inserted it into the rubber top of the bottle, drawing out some of the liquid, and turned to the IV. And froze.  
A pair of footsteps was clearly audible in the hallway. Dean cringed, glancing first at the syringe in his hand, then at the cracked open door. Panicking, he crouched down behind the patient’s bed, where he was not visible from the window into the hallway. The footsteps grew louder until finally they slowed and stopped. Dean held his breath.  
“Dean?” Castiel’s familiar voice called into the room.  
Dean closed his eyes and exhaled shakily. “Dammit, Cas,” he whispered, too relieved to be able to muster much venom. He stood slowly, still clutching the syringe and the bottle, to gaze at Cas, standing in the doorway. Cas was breathing heavily, but he wore a relieved expression identical to the one on Dean’s face. “How the hell did you get here?” Dean asked incredulously. “How did you find me?”  
Cas made an impatient sound. “That’s not of import,” he said, waving the question away. “Dean, you need to leave.”  
Dean scoffed at Cas, incredulous. “What?”  
“You need to leave,” Cas repeated. “You can’t kill—“  
“Cas,” Dean interrupted, eyes flashing. “If you’re going to hold me up, you need to leave. This is a hunting trip. We gank the monsters.” He turned away and began fiddling with the IV.  
Cas grabbed his arm roughly and pulled him away from the patient. “Dean,” he growled. “You can’t—“  
Dean pushed free. “I need to do this,” his eyes wide and pleading. “They have to die. All of them.”  
Cas grabbed the arm holding the syringe again. “Dean, Sam called me.” Dean stopped struggling for a moment. “He did some research. The patients are responding to treatment. They don’t have the croatoan virus.”  
“Oh.” With that word, the fight went out of Dean, and his arm went lip in Cas’s grip. “I guess we’d better get out of here, then.”  
Mercifully, nobody gave them a second glance on their way out of the hospital. Dean made a quick stop by Dr. Martin’s office to drop off his keys, and then the continued out to the parking lot. Wordlessly, Dean opened the passenger side door for Cas before opening his own door. He was about to get in when he noticed Cas hesitating by his own door.  
“You need a push or something?” he asked.  
Cas gazed at Dean, brow wrinkling. “I stole a car to get over here. I need to return it to its original owner.”  
Dean shot a weary glare back at him. “You’re drunk, Cas. I didn’t teach you how to drive just so you could freaking crash. Get in the damn car.”  
Cas stiffened. “I’m not drunk, Dean.”  
Dean sighed. “Just get in the car, Cas. Please. We’ll come back in the morning.”  
Cas relented and got in. They drove back to the hotel, Dean in a pensive silence, Cas in a troubled one.  
Back in their room, Dean made as if to go right to bed, but Cas stopped him. “I don’t understand why you were so determined to kill all of those people at the hospital.”  
Dean shoved his hands in his pockets. “I told you. I thought they were croats—er—“ he coughed. “I thought they had the croatoan virus. That’s how we deal with that.”  
Cas shook his head impatiently. “I know you, Dean. You don’t rush in like that if there’s a chance you could be killing innocent people. That’s one of the reasons why I—” he faltered. “You’re not telling me the whole truth.”  
Dean sat down heavily on his bed. “Do we really have to do this now?” he asked. “You’re drunk. Sleep it off, then we’ll talk.”  
Cas picked up two small bottles from his bedside table and held them in front of Dean so he could see them. “Two 50 milliliter bottles of forty percent alcohol content. I didn’t even finish the second one,” he said, swishing the meager amount of liquor around in one of the bottles. “I’ve eaten two full meals today. I am not drunk, Dean.”  
Dean closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath. “Okay,” he said simply. He paused for a moment, thinking. “Okay. Do you remember, I guess it would’ve been five or six years ago, when Zachariah zapped me into the future?”  
“I remember it happened,” Cas said, squinting as he sat down across from Dean, “but you never disclosed much about it.”  
Dean laughed shortly. “Yeah, I—it was, uh, pretty bad. Sam and I had a fight right before it happened, and in this future… thing… we never made up. So he said yes to Lucifer. And I—the other Dean—was the leader of this camp of survivors—it was after the apocalypse—and I was… god… I was so hardened and… I mean, I was back on torturing. And I sent a bunch of them—you too—on a suicide mission against Lucifer. And you…” he trailed off, remembering. “You were human. And you were this bitter junkie, but you were still so…” he stopped again. “Anyway, it was all because of the croatoan virus. Mostly, anyway. And all of a sudden, I guess I just—there’s this thing Lucifer said to me back there that stuck with me. He said, ‘No matter what you do, you’re always going to end up here.’ And, well, you’re human now. And Sam’s probably going to leave the bunker now that he’s back with Amelia. And it looked like the croatoan virus was back, and when you were drinking earlier—I mean it’s not the same thing, but I—I didn’t even think, I just had to stop it from happening.” Finished, he sat back and looked at Cas expectantly.  
Cas took a minute to absorb this flood of information. “Five years ago, I would have told you that Lucifer was correct. The future is set in stone.”  
Dean gave a thin smile. “Yeah, and you would’ve been a real dick about it too.”  
“That was before I saw both you and your brother say no to the angels for whom you were destined to serve as vessels. That was before I disobeyed heaven’s will to serve your cause. I’ve seen a demon die saving two humans and an angel, and I’ve seen a vampire who called a human his brother. And beyond that, Dean, I’ve seen the things you’re capable of. If there are two things I believe in, it’s free will and you. Even if the croatoan virus was back, I believe you could handle it.”  
Dean cleared his throat. “What happened to ‘all things come to an end?’ ”  
“Not this end,” said Cas fervently. “Not now. I don’t think Sam is cutting himself off from you as much as you think he is. If I become a—junkie—like you say I was, I trust you to pull me back from that, the way you did when Sam was addicted to demon blood. And if you start torturing again…”  
“You’ll beat the shit out of me?” Dean asked with a wry grin.  
“I promise,” Cas replied, matching his tone.  
Dean let his gaze linger on Cas’s lips before his grin faded. “There’s something else. I don’t know this for sure, but I got the idea that we were—the other me and the other you were—you know. Friggen… Jack Twist and Ennis del Mar.”  
Cas cocked his head.  
Dean sighed. “They were fucking, Cas.”  
“They were in love.” Cas said this not as a question, but as a simple truth.  
Dean leaned forward and rested his head on his hands, as if his neck was momentarily too weary to support it. “Yeah,” he admitted. “But it was this desperate, screwed-up thing, and if—” and here his voice broke for the first time that night. “If we’re going to be together, it can’t be like that.”  
His words hung in the air between them as he waited for Cas to speak.  
Cas didn’t speak.  
“Geez,” Dean laughed nervously. “You’re just going to leave me hanging? Guy pours his damn heart out to you and you just sit there?”  
“Is that what you want?” Cas asked finally, carefully. “For us… to be together? Earlier tonight, I wasn’t sure what to think.”  
“Yes!” Dean exclaimed. “Dude, fuck, how could you even ask me that? Everything I do—freaking purgatory—you can’t tell that I’m just insane sometimes when it comes to you? Years now, I’ve been hoping—god, trying not to hope, honestly--we’d both be settled and in the same place long enough to make it work, and I think this is it.” He gestured widely. “You know, assuming things don’t go the Lucifer route,” he added. Struck by a sudden thought, he leaned back slightly. “You do feel the same way, right?”  
Cas chuckled, and the sound was so foreign that it served to confuse Dean further. “What the hell is so funny?” he asked sharply.  
Cas shook his head, still smiling. “You make fun of me for not understanding words past their literal meanings, but ‘I have faith in you’ and ‘I never realized how much it hurts to be left behind’—those words are too difficult for you to interpret?”  
This time, when they kissed, it wasn’t an expression of things gone unsaid, but an escalation of the things that had been said. It was soft and sweet sure this time, a sigh of relief. This time, it continued, as kisses turned to groans and sighs, which turned into whispered names, and then transformed into a thick, fulfilled silence.  
Later, they curled up together on Dean’s bed as the sun made its presence known through the thick hotel curtains.  
“Dean?” Cas rumbled lazily into Dean’s neck.  
“Yeah?”  
“Explain to me how this togetherness works.”  
Dean paused midway through stroking Cas’s hair. “I guess I don’t know yet,” he admitted. “I want it to look like more of the same. You living in the bunker. Us going on hunting trips together. But there’s not going to be anymore leaving anyone behind, not for either of us. And some days maybe I’ll bring you breakfast in bed. And obviously,” he said, sucking a kiss into Cas’s collarbone, “there’s going to be a lot more of this.”  
Cas leaned down to plant a smiling kiss on Dean’s lips. “I’d like that too.”  
***  
The trip back to the bunker took longer than the reverse trip. Dean and Cas continually found it necessary to pull over off to the sides of deserted highways. Even in the bunker’s dark garage they lingered in the car, aimlessly letting their lips and their hands wander, rediscovering each other.  
“Putting it off will not make confronting Sam any easier,” Cas said in a low voice.  
Dean grinned and nibbled at Cas’s ear. “Because you just hate the way I’m procrastinating, right? You want me to stop?”  
“Well, no,” Cas admitted, pulling Dean closer.  
Dean sighed. “You’re right, though.” He leaned his forehead against Cas’s for a moment, and then got out of the car.  
They entered the bunker together. Dean sucked in a deep breath, held it for a moment, and let it out in a holler. “SAMMY! We’re home!”  
There was a clatter from upstairs, and then Sam appeared behind the railing, bearing a box marked “Bedroom.”  
“Dean!” Sam looked appropriately sheepish. “Cas. I got to you guys in time? The vics are recovering?”  
Dean crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows, saying nothing.  
Cas cleared his throat. “Yes, Sam, thank you for your phone call. The patients in the hospital are indeed recovering on schedule.”  
“So were you planning on being gone by the time we got back, or what?” Dean asked coldly.  
Sam winced. “Dean, don’t freak out. There’s some stuff we have to talk about.”  
Dean snorted. “I don’t see what there is to say. You’re moving out, so you can go live with the woman who kept you from your responsibilities for a whole year.”  
“Seems to me,” said a voice behind Dean, “you were the only one holding him to these so-called responsibilities. Once you left, he seemed pretty eager to get away from it all.”  
Dean whirled around and gaped at Amelia, who had appeared holding another large box.  
Sam ran down the stairs. “Amelia, don’t strain yourself, let me—“  
But she had already put down the box to hold out her hand for Dean to shake. Dean’s jaw went slack.  
“You’re Dean,” she said with a tight smile, her hand still poised in front of Dean. “You’re Castiel,” she said, offering her hand to Cas, who shook it. “And I’m—“  
“Pregnant,” Dean breathed.  
Amelia rolled her eyes at Sam. “Obviously.”  
“Now can you shut up and listen?” asked Sam.  
“Yeah,” replied a very dazed Dean. He sat down at the map-patterned table, followed by the others.  
“A little less than a year ago,” began Amelia, “The guy I thought was my husband, miraculously back from the dead, tried to kill me. Before he could finish the job, three teenagers busted in and shot him through the heart. They told me that they were ‘hunters,’ and that the thing they had shot was actually a shapeshifter they’d been tracking for a while. I didn’t really know what to do after that. None of my friends would believe me, and eventually I thought of calling Sam. Turns out, not only did he believe me, but this is actually what he’s done with his life. And things kind of… progressed from there.” She smiled at Sam and covered his large hand with her smaller one.  
“We’ve been seeing each other secretly ever since,” Sam continued. “About four months ago, Amelia told me she was pregnant, and it just felt right. And here we are.”  
Dean let out a long breath. “You’re having a baby,” he said, shaking his head. And then he smiled. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s going to suck not having you around, but… congratulations. I mean that.”  
“The thing is, Dean,” Sam said slowly. “I’m not moving out. Amelia’s moving in.”  
“We do have the space for it,” Dean ventured.  
“It’s a big bunker,” Sam agreed. “Big enough that I can use it as kind of a home office.”  
Dean met his gaze with a blank stare.  
“I talked to Garth, Dean. I’m taking over his whole ‘Hunter HQ’ thing.”  
Dean spoke slowly, absorbing what Sam had told him. “If you’re doing the baby thing, you can’t be out in the field. I guess you being the new Garth sounds like the best compromise.”  
Sam stared at him. “I kind of expected you to react more explosively.”  
“Well, it helps that I’ve gotten laid, like, ten times today.” Dean winked at Cas.  
Sam glanced from one to the other of them. “You guys finally…?”  
“Yep,” Dean grinned. “I guess that makes us one big happy family.” He got up from the table. “So now that we’ve taken care of all that, I’m going to go unpack.” He gestured upstairs with his head and grabbed his backpack.  
Cas ventured over to Dean’s room a little while later and found Dean sitting on his bed with his head in his hands.  
“Dean?” Cas asked softly, hovering in the doorway.  
Dean looked up at the sound of his name. “Cas,” he said hoarsely. He got up and pulled Cas inside, closing the door behind him. They sat down on the bed, leaning against each other in silence as their breathing synchronized.  
“How are you handling all this?” Cas asked eventually.  
“I’m honestly starting to believe that everything is going to be okay,” Dean said with a faint smile. “And that feels weird. And it’s weird that it feels weird.”  
“I’m glad.”  
Dean leaned back against the headboard of his bed to take in the image of Cas sitting there, stooped over, lips pursed. “What about you, Cas? How’re you holding up? Is the human thing looking any better from where you’re sitting?”  
Cas hesitated. “No.” Dean flinched. “And yes.” Cas laced his fingers with Dean’s, stroking his thumb along Dean’s index finger. “Angels don’t adapt well to changes. I’m better than most, but I still tried to ‘zap’ up here instead of walking. I still wish I could heal you when you’re hurt. And I know that won’t change immediately. But I like some things. Eating. Sleeping. Sleeping with you.”  
“Literally or figuratively?” Dean smirked.  
“Both.” Cas leaned over Dean, pinning him between his arms to the headboard.  
“Wait.” Dean paused, half an inch away from Cas’s lips. “You’re definitely not planning on drowning your sorrows in a bottle of pills?”  
“Well,” Cas cocked his head. “Keep me satisfied and I won’t have to.”  
Dean laughed. “I can do that.”  
THE END?


End file.
